The Bottle That Cuts The Deepest
by impulsesbulky
Summary: A short oneshot detailing how a young Joker (then Jack Napier) received the scar that runs along his bottom lip. (Warnings for abuse, violence, language etc.)


Jack had stayed out later than usual before he came home from school. He'd made his way to the park just a few blocks away from the school and sat himself in the grass, away from everyone else. He didn't speak to anyone and he didn't dare interact. He simply watched. Couples walking by, colorful leaves blowing in the chilly breeze, dogs running, and kids playing. He was not a part of any of these things. He was simply as he had always been, out of place—an observer.

Before he knew it, it had grown dark and much colder. He usually liked to be home before it got dark so he could beat them home. He hoisted his awkward, lanky, and malnourished body off the ground. He didn't bother to brush himself off. He didn't have time for that. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, the wind blowing the dark brown curls into his face. He knew they didn't approve of his hair, but he liked it longer. He liked having something to hide behind.

He walked as briskly as he could back home, a sense of dread already beginning to form in him. His jaw clenched and he could feel his pulse thumping in his ears with every step he took. He tried to convince himself he would be alright. After all, he was thirteen now and he'd spent thirteen years with them. What more besides kill him could they do to him?

Finally reaching the rundown stairs of his home in the seedy neighborhood he lived in, he glanced around for their car and checked to see if any lights were on. Not seeing anything, he breathed a sigh of relief, blowing a few dark curls that hung in his face out of the way. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key, unlocking the door and stepping inside to a darkened living room. He closed the door behind him, locking it and set his bag down, stepping unknowingly into the hell that awaited him.

"Where the fuck have you been, Jacky-Boy? Hm?"

He jumped in the darkness, eyes narrowing and body tensing when he heard the voice. "I was, uh... I was at the _park_. I didn't, ah, I didn't _expect_ you to be _home_ yet..."

The older voice took a swig of something, choking out a deep, sarcastic laugh. "The park, huh? For what? You picking flowers you fucking pansy. ..." The man stood up, several things crashing to the floor as he stumbled, drunk. "You... You know you're supposed to come home right away, Jacky-Boy... I had... Had to come home to no fucking dinner and the house is a goddamn mess. You're an irresponsible little shit, ya know that?"

Jack remained tense, his eyes narrowed and trying to get a sense for where his father was at the moment. He found himself slowly backing away, trying to make his way to the stairs to at least get to his room, but he backed himself into a wall. He bit down on his bottom lip, hands balling into fists. "I _know_. I just, ah... I _forgot_ this time. I can make your dinner now. It's, uh.. It's not exactly a _big deal_, y'know. Whatever you _want_."

The man stumbled closer, taking another swig out of his bottle. He kept moving in the darkness towards his only son's voice. He was angry. Incredibly angry. "Oh, Jacky-Boy... You shut up! You shut the hell up!"

He'd found the boy standing with his back pressed against the wall. With one hand he reached out and grabbed his son in a choke hold, snarling at him. However, he hadn't counted on the boy having such a good grip back. The boy's hands dug into him and a foot quickly moved to collide hard with his shin, a snarl heard back at him. Recoiling from the hit, the man dropped his son and bent over.

Jack had reacted without thinking. He was older now and he could fight back. He'd been in a few fights at school, been punished over them. He was tired of taking the abuse. Tired of the pain. He was angry and he only grew angrier the older he got. His life had hardened him, he knew that. He would never be normal and it was all thanks to them. Collapsed into the floor, he gasped, a bout of laughter escaping him. Though he knew pain was coming for him and he was going to pay, he couldn't hold himself back from laughter. The laughter kept coming, tears pouring from his dark eyes.

The older man was seething. He wanted nothing more than to kill his son at that moment, make him pay. He only grew angrier when he heard the little bastard laughing. He stepped forward again, boot crushing down on the boy's chest before he knelt down. "You think it's funny, you little fucker? Huh? Try laughing now!"

Before Jack could move, he stared wide-eyed, tears still running down his cheeks, as the man brought his beer bottle down on his face. The bottle hit hard and shattered on his lip. He could feel the searing pain, taste the blood. He stared up, gasping and trembling below the man. The laughter had stopped and he silenced himself, not allowing himself to cry or sob at the pain, too afraid the man would make another move and kill him. He lay there, bleeding and in pain as his father grinned down at him, wreaking of alcohol.

"Yeah... That's what you get. Try smiling now, Jacky-Boy. You won't find shit so funny next time... Clean this mess up..."

Jack blinked in the darkness, spitting out the blood from his torn lip, as his father walked away from him. _One day_... One day he'd get out of here and they'd pay... They'd pay for what they'd done to him... But for now, he simply chalked this up to one more beating, one more piece of hell that he took that would shape him into the man he was destined to become.


End file.
